


The Rook

by Sistermine



Series: Escape to the Country [1]
Category: Eagle - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-28
Updated: 2012-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-31 21:16:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/348442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sistermine/pseuds/Sistermine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bloody bird. Wasn't it supposed to be peace and quiet here in the country while he recuperated from the crash?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rook

**Author's Note:**

> Modern AU  
> No warnings
> 
> Disclaimer: fair use of characters only, no offence intended.
> 
> Originally written for the [Ninth Eagle LJ fanfic challenge,](http://ninth-eagle.livejournal.com/161470.html) October 2011, and inspired by the photos of the [bird](http://i1271.photobucket.com/albums/jj636/sistermine6/Eagle%20fanfic/th_RiventhornsRaven.jpg) and the[ Beetle car](http://i1271.photobucket.com/albums/jj636/sistermine6/Eagle%20fanfic/th_Riventhornscar.jpg) \- so cute.  
> 

  
The cawing squawked through Marcus's daydreams. He looked out of the window, but couldn't see the fence from this angle. Bloody bird. Wasn't it supposed to be peace and quiet here in the country while he recuperated from the crash. “Take the opportunity to read, dear boy,” said his uncle as he'd helped him settle in before abandoning him to go off on one of his tours. It was a good idea; he could read, and write some of his own stuff instead of bloody lectures and session plans on other people's writing.  
  
Poor Beetle. It hadn't been as mendable as his leg, which they promised was likely to heal properly, despite the scary-looking scar. Esca had visited the hospital, and they'd had a moment when he'd thought they might reconnect. He didn't know how mendable that was.  
  
He tried to go back to the daydream. He was layering a story in his head with a boy – Esca-like, of course; weren't they always – working for his parents on a farm. Not set in the present, he thought; early 70s, the economy was equally shot but social rules more rigid. No mobile phones and social media (actually, not so far from the truth here). In an attempt at authorial distance, the young man was heterosexual - thinking about a girl, the promise of a local dance - full of hope and expectation, not paying attention to his chores, getting in trouble with his dad.  
  
Hmm. Maybe not so much distance. Was he condemned to write this story over and over... He probably was, until he managed to really sort it out. But, he didn't want to think about that now; this was good work thinking time.  
  
The next layer was the parents, distracted by their own problems from the needs of the boy. Someone else, an older man, the boy's uncle perhaps, arrives and provides a glimpse of a life beyond the current confines. He stirs up the dynamics on the farm; clearly some tension between him and the mother. Huh! Even more cliché, not to mention wishful thinking on Marcus's part. OK then, the mother is the sister, and it's not sexual tension, no, not with any member of the family.  
  
Perhaps he needs to get laid, in the words of his students.  
  
Maybe he should try some different writing exercises. Meanwhile he was just going to close his eyes for a little moment, just until the story crystallised a little more...  
  
Pounding on the door broke through his daze. He reached for the crutch and hauled himself out of the chair, shouting that he was on his way. Might be the post.  
  
“Cottia. Come in.” She had an armful of stuff, plastic boxes and biscuit tins.  
  
“Sorry, did I wake you? The door was locked and there's no reception here, but I wanted to drop this stuff off for you. Valeria sent you some meals for the freezer, and one of them is still hot if you want it now.”  
  
“Thanks sweetheart. I'd offer to help carry it, but...,” he waved the crutch around as she walked in.  
  
She laughed. “How's it healing? You look OK.”  
  
Marcus hobbled after her into the kitchen and laboriously filled the kettle at her nod. “I'm fine. The leg's fine. Just have to keep up the exercise regime. Don't have to teach the rest of term so that's marvellous.”  
  
She laughed. “Thought that's what your job was. Aren't you supposed to love it; bringing young minds to an appreciation of literature?”  
  
“Oh how little you understand the world of academia. Teaching students is just an annoying distraction from the real thing.”  
  
“Yeah, stop, I've heard this one before, from you and your uncle, and it's just salt in the wound of my student debt.” She was stacking stuff in the freezer, rearranging. “So, now you've got an opportunity to do your own thing undistracted. How's that going?”  
  
Marcus carried the teapot over to the table and swung back to get the mugs. “Honestly? It's a bit too quiet here; I don't know how you stand it. I think I need the distractions. But at least I get the exercise I need since I have to walk up the lane for 200 yards to make a phone call or find out anything on Google.”  
  
“I have plenty of distractions when I want them,” she leered at him. “Do you want to eat this now? It's mushroom goulash or something.” She waved a different box, and when he shook his head she put it in the fridge and got the milk out. “And Esca? Is he going to come and stay here too?”  
  
“Ah. I don't know. We're not really talking at the moment.”  
  
She looked up in surprise. “But he was there, at the hospital?”  
  
“Oh, yes. He came to visit me. And he's dealt with all the car stuff; the legal stuff.” Marcus drank some tea and tried to weigh up what he felt, and what he could tell Cottia. “If I hadn't crashed the car I don't think I'd have seen him again.”  
  
“Oh Marcus. I'm sorry. He's sweet. You seemed to get each other.”  
  
Marcus laughed. “Yeah, I thought so. He really isn't though. Sweet.”  
  
“Yeah. He is. I saw him with you.”  
  
“Well, behind closed doors and all that.”  
  
She put her mug down. “Look, I know you know best, but are you sure you're giving him a chance, and not the patented fortress Aquila?”  
  
“Cottia! Subtext, girl. You're not supposed to say that stuff out loud; we talked about that remember.”  
  
“Bollocks, Marcus. That's exactly what I mean. Even when you're joking you're building those walls. It's exasperating.” She smiled, challenging. “Have you invited him here?”  
  
He frowned at her. “You are a meddling old crone, and need to go back to your witches' coven. I'm sure Valeria needs you to stir her cauldron or something.”  
  
“Joke away Marcus. But invite him. He won't feel he can come otherwise. You can't just be passing, here, can you? That's why you're here isn't it, and not in your nice flat with your broadband and your cornershops.”  
  
“Peace and quiet. No distractions.”  
  
She paused, and the bird noise filtered in, cawing away. She nodded her head at the window. “You just said you needed distractions.” She got up. “Ring him. Take your leg for a walk up the lane and invite him for the weekend.”  
  
“Romance junkie. Go. Leave me here. Go and brew love potions.” Marcus grinned at her, slowly standing up and hobbling after her to the door.  
  
“Promise me?” She kissed him on the cheek.  
  
”I'm not promising anything.” Marcus bent to pick up a pebble, as she got in her car and waved at him.  
  
He lobbed the stone towards the fence. “Peace and quiet,” he shouted.


End file.
